


keep on keeping on

by blacksatinpointeshoes



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (im still thinking about the fact that they were roommates on the airship), Airship time babey!, Airsickness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vomiting, bc gross, but like. very lowkey, it's just blatant h/c ok this is an Old Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksatinpointeshoes/pseuds/blacksatinpointeshoes
Summary: The middle of the night sucks when one is, hypothetically, ill on an airship next to someone they definitely don't have feelings for, in the midst of a crisis of faith, having learned that their family was keeping ideological secrets.You know, hypothetically, it would be nice for someone to extend a hand in this situation, or something.





	keep on keeping on

**Author's Note:**

> hey welcome to the fic id planned to keep locked up forever!! it's actually the first one I've ever written for rqg. surprise! a relic. please enjoy :)

“Top bunk or bottom bunk?” Hamid asks, stifling a yawn as he rests his forearm on the bed’s ladder. One of his feet is already on a rung, but he shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter to me.”

Zolf, on the other hand, has his hand wrapped in a white-knuckled grip around one of the support posts, his face still uncomfortably pallid as he swallows hard. “Bottom,” he mutters, sitting heavily on the mattress. “I— yeah. Thanks.”

Hamid turns to clamber into his newly claimed territory, then stops. He takes the few steps across the room and hovers in front of Zolf, trying to think of something comforting to say. Zolf’s eyes are squeezed tightly shut, fingers gripping the bed, and Hamid reaches out on instinct to press the back of his hand to Zolf’s forehead. It’s warm, clammy. Zolf shivers, then cracks open one eye.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, flatter than salt plains. 

“Um,” says Hamid awkwardly, retracting his hand and pulling his sleeves on and off to quickly change into nightclothes, as if this distraction will fixing anything. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay?” His voice is almost a squeak and Hamid doesn’t know  _ why -  _ it’s just Zolf, for gods’ sakes! There’s nothing to be worried about. There is  _ nothing  _ to worry about. 

Zolf clears his throat and grimaces. “Well, I’m fine,” he says, as if Hamid hasn’t just politely Prestidigitated Zolf’s lost lunch off of the top deck of the airship. He grunts and, with effort, lies down on top of the rough blankets, facing the wall. “Night, Hamid.”

Hesitating, Hamid pauses at the base of the ladder and sighs. “Night, Zolf,” he says softly, wishing more than anything to reach out a hand and run it through —no. No, no, what the hell is he doing? Where is this coming from? Hamid’s heart comes up against some sort of unfamiliar friction, jumping, spinning, skipping. Anyway. It must be the close quarters. He ignores it. “Feel better.”

Zolf makes a noise in the back of his throat, but doesn’t reply. Hamid lies down in his bunk and tries to go to sleep, shifting and turning from side to side in an effort to get comfortable. He’s not as exhausted as he was before his nap earlier that day, so the rough hewn sheets and lumpy mattress bite into his skin in a distinctly un-Parisian way as he pulls the covers up around his shoulders. Zolf isn’t moving, so far as Hamid can tell, but every once in a while the dwarf looses a wet cough that makes Hamid’s chest clench. 

Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes, and Hamid drifts away. 

* * *

About an hour later Hamid stirs to the sound of heavy breathing, an audible, panicked wheeze. His sleepy mouth feels like it’s filled with sand and cotton, but he tries to mumble, “Zolf?” around tired lips. The noise stops almost immediately, quieting down to a shuddering inhale Hamid has to strain to hear. He waits, but Zolf doesn’t say anything.

As Hamid shuts his eyes again, the other shoe drops, and his disjointed mind finally recognises the sound of crying.

* * *

Hamid’s not sure how much time has passed when he wakes up again, but he registers two things right away: there is noise from the bottom bunk, and the ship is rocking as it lists slowly to the left. The faint sway is - well, it’s actually kind of nice, like a large cradle, in Hamid’s opinion.

From below, Zolf sucks in a tight breath, and Hamid figures that his roommate completely disagrees. “Zolf?” he asks gently, as a pair of feet hit the floor and the man himself stumbles towards the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Zolf snaps without turning back, and the slightest hint of a stutter in his voice tells Hamid that things are much more ‘wrong’ than he’d previously thought. “Go back to sleep.”

Zolf slams the door before Hamid can respond, but the walls are thin, and Hamid can hear him retching in the hallway. He sighs in sympathy and slips out of bed, crossing the room and prying the door back open. “Come on, Zolf—”

Braced feebly against one wall, Zolf vomits with the resignation of someone who’s been ill for a long time. Hamid supposes he has been - Zolf didn’t look well when they boarded, and he’d chalked up the paleness in Amelia’s cabin to the gut punch of family news, but is now realising that didn’t quite make sense - and feels terrible for not noticing it earlier. He  _ should  _ have noticed earlier and been helpful, or at least made tea, or thought about anything but the fact that he was hungry and tired and, well, spending time in the lounge drinking wine with Bertie as if he were the same oblivious, irresponsible kid he was six months ago was not the best decision. 

(Hamid doesn’t even know why he did it. He doesn’t have to protect himself anymore.) 

Hamid had wanted to say something comforting, but it seems stupid now. He’s never seen Zolf like this and it feels profane to acknowledge it. But there’s nothing else he can do  _ except  _ help, and Hamid has never felt so fiercely that he must, because Zolf has been so strong in the face of every adversary it’s a miracle his facade hadn’t broken down earlier. “Let me help,” says Hamid, reaching out to lay a hand on his heaving shoulder. 

Jerking away, Zolf clears his throat and, without turning around, growls,  _ “Get away from me.”  _

Instead, Hamid casts Prestidigitation to clean him up and says, “No.”

Zolf heaves a short sigh - which really isn’t fair, considering that Hamid is actively trying to help him - and sets his jaw. “Hamid, go back in the room,” he says flatly, still hunched away. There’s a semblance of his commanding tone in those words but it’s hollow and ragged. “Please.”

“I- I’m not going to  _ leave  _ you here!” Hamid exclaims, and  _ gods  _ he is getting pitchy. “Not now, I mean, not ever; you’re sick and I…” Hamid bites his tongue to keep himself from getting too sappy. Zolf doesn’t really care about Hamid’s personal feelings, right? It’s about the Rangers (they’re still working on the name) and the trust that exists between all of them. That’s what’s important. Hamid says,  _ “ _ I’m not going anywhere.”

The ship rocks lazily and Zolf squeezes his eyes shut again, legs buckling as he sinks to the ground. Hamid rushes to his side and takes his chance again with contact, sweeping Zolf’s hair out of his eyes and laying his free hand on the dwarf’s shoulders to give a comforting squeeze. Zolf mutters something when the boat steadies but doesn’t move, his fists clenched in his lap, and Hamid’s chest twists in sympathy. 

“What did you say?” he asks, once it becomes clear that Zolf isn’t going anywhere.

“I said—” Zolf swallows. “I said it doesn’t matter where you are so long as Zeus is taking the piss.” 

“What?” says Hamid, a bit taken aback. “I— wh— are you making a joke?” 

Zolf leans back against the wall and groans a little; Hamid follows suit and reaches out to - no. No, he doesn’t; he  _ doesn’t  _ reach for Zolf’s hand, he - why is he even thinking about that? He doesn’t  _ get  _ to think about that. “‘S not a joke,” Zolf says, taking in a near-desperate gulp of air. “This is— ‘m not supposed to be here.”

“Don’t say that,” Hamid responds instinctively, his brow knitting together. “You’re not-”

Zolf claps his hand down over Hamid’s and squeezes hard, nearly crushing Hamid’s fingers and - oh, okay, they’re doing this. Okay! This is fine. Hamid’s fine. He should definitely be more focused on the agony on Zolf’s face, that violent discomfort, but he’s entirely distracted by the lightning bolts zinging up his arm at the touch. 

“No,” says Zolf, biting down on his lip for a moment in order to keep himself from gagging, and the grip on Hamid’s hands tightens further, if possible. “No, I mean— air and sea. Zeus. Unhappy gods. And now, with -” He gestures weakly towards his legs. “Divine favour, or something, I dunno. Never really got along too well in the first place, Zeus and Poseidon, and now I’m here, and it’s like a massive kick in the balls.”

Hamid, who isn’t sure if that’s the proper way to describe religion, even though Zolf’s reasoning checks out, casts a worried look towards the ceiling. “Oh,” he says, instead of being helpful.

“Yeah.” 

“What can I do to help?” Hamid asks, his eyes big and searching. “I mean, if you go back into the room, I’m sure I can go ask someone for—”

“No,” Zolf cuts him off, though he’s still visibly straining. “I— I want to be alone, Hamid, if you don’t mind. It’s not you; it’s just that-”

The ship rocks with a bit more vigor now and Zolf wrenches away, dry heaving as Hamid rubs circles into his back. “You’re my friend,” Hamid says gently, reminding himself that he has no right to press his lips to Zolf’s shoulder for comfort. “So I’ll leave you alone if you want me to, I will, but— not until you feel better.” 

Zolf slumps against the wall again with a vocal gasp, leaning his head back and wiping his mouth with a still-shaking hand. “Hamid—”

“I’m just worried,” Hamid insists, using his most persuasive and rational voice. “Especially if there are gods involved with this — and I know you explained it in a clever sort of way but it’s  _ not funny,  _ Zolf, it just sounds really hard!” The facade of calm has flown out the window and it’s Hamid’s turn to take Zolf’s hand, voice rising in pitch. “I am scared for you, and worried about you, and —well, you haven’t talked at  _ all  _ about this news with the Harlequins—”

“Stop it,” Zolf interrupts, voice tight, and his shoulders have gone tense. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something more, then shuts it again.

“I’m not going to leave until you’re okay,” Hamid repeats, steady now. His voice is still high but that might just be because, even through his protests, Zolf has taken their fingers and twined them together. “I just— I just want you to be okay.”

Zolf still won’t look at him. 

Hamid, quieter but resolute, asks, “Are you… are you okay?” 

In response, Zolf gives a short laugh so bitter it could wither rock and says, “What do you  _ think,  _ Hamid?” There’s something wrong in his voice, too, like he’s fighting back tears, and when Zolf breathes again, Hamid recognises that shudder. It takes everything in him not to throw his arms around Zolf’s shoulders and hold him until the world rights itself again, but Hamid knows that Zolf doesn’t like hugs, and so he keeps back, squeezing their palms closer together. 

Zolf doesn’t let go, just turns his face away, unable to give in to the vortex of vulnerability and unwilling to let go of the link between them, and Hamid actively yearns to do something, anything, but watch his boss, his friend, his— no; he’s not going to think about that - wear himself down to weathered, lonely pieces on an airship, feeling like death. “I-I am here for you, you know,” Hamid says, resting his head on Zolf’s shoulder. “Even if you don’t want it right now.” 

It’s not like Hamid doesn’t know what it’s like to lose people. Maybe not through death, or whatever happened to Zolf’s brother, but the sting of separation is still fresh in the halfling’s mind. And, well - Hamid might be the one out of the group most prone to bursting into tears, but everyone deserves their turn, and Zolf needs someone to cry on, too (maybe literally, but at least figuratively). 

“I know,” Zolf breathes, almost into Hamid’s hair, and one arm slips around his waist. Technically Zolf is holding him but there’s no question that this is something needed, that this is something  _ necessary,  _ that this is something lost and sacred and found and home. “Thank you, Hamid.”

“Of course.”  _ Of course, of course, anytime.  _ See, Hamid can help. He  _ can.  _ And he’s not going to give up.

* * *

(Several hours later, Zolf wakes up. In a bed. He— Hamid couldn’t have carried him; that’s ridiculous. He— no. It was probably a dream in the first place. Zolf’s had a lot of weird dreams lately. 

Pushing himself into a sitting position, head still spinning because  _ fuck Zeus,  _ Zolf’s sleep stained eyes come to rest on Hamid, unconscious upright in a hammock, like he was trying to keep vigil. Like he was trying to make sure Zolf was okay. Like he—

Well. 

Zolf grabs Hamid’s blanket from the top bunk. Rearranges the halfling into a more comfortable position. Tucks the quilt around his shoulders. Hamid almost stirs and Zolf almost panics, but no. They’re all tired. Hamid needs to rest. 

It’s good that he didn’t wake up. They can keep on keeping on this way, just as they were. Just as they are. Just as they always will be.)

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are very much appreciated. hmu to talk rusty quill on tumblr @thoughtsbubble, on twitter @mostlyzoe, or over on the rqdbfc, where we can stress together about the upcoming episode. :) thank you for reading!!


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